


Nice Vase

by Snarky_Warden



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Crisis of Faith, F/M, Religious Discussion, zevwarden week 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:33:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28495407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snarky_Warden/pseuds/Snarky_Warden
Summary: Zevwarden Week 2020: Oh Maker: FaithZevran wrestles with his sense of Faith after all he witnessed at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. While the Gauntlet brings Kallian a sense of certainty and purpose she had been lacking for years.
Relationships: Zevran Arainai/Female Tabris, Zevran Arainai/Female Warden
Kudos: 5
Collections: ZevWarden Week 2020





	Nice Vase

Before heading back down the winding paths of the mountain road, the warden called for everyone to rest within the town of Haven and they would start the trek in the morning. Some might have found it uncomfortable to take up residence in the homes of the dead, but Zevran wasn’t overly bothered by it. Perhaps he ought to have been. Today more than ever he wondered what things he ought to have been feeling, what was right or wrong, and why that ache had filled him as he watched his warden fall to her knees, tears in her eyes as they reached the fabled urn of sacred ashes.

He felt only confusion. Was he supposed to fall down and sing the chant at the top of his lungs? He had coughed and uttered a snippy response. ‘Nice vase.’ 

Now he waited for his warden to come to bed. A pleasant habit, he fondly called it. Instead she was sitting on the floor staring deep into the flames of the fireplace as if they would answer her questions. It was strange to see her so quiet, distanced from everyone else.

“What is on your mind?” he finally asked, coming to sit next to her.

To his surprise, Kallian dragged in a ragged breath, raw as if she had still been crying. “I never thought it would actually be real,” she whispered.

“We found some dusty ashes in a pot. Who is to say there is anything special or magical about them? If they are even Andraste’s at all,” he replied.

She turned to him, that childlike wide eyed look on her face. “You don’t believe in the prophet?”

It was his turn to stare into the fire. He didn’t like such questions being turned around on him. Not when he had so few answers. “ _Tch_. Of course I believe.”

“Then how can you go through all that and think it’s _just_ some bloody ashes, Zev! I saw-” her mouth clamped shut. She swallowed hard and turned back to the fire. 

She drew her knees to her chest, flames flickering in the warmth of her eyes, seeing something far away. Fiddling with the laces on her shirt she looked up to the ceiling. Liquid rimmed the bottom of her eyes, and guilt wormed its way into his stomach. He wanted to push it away. What did he have to feel guilty for? What did he owe her, or Andraste, or anyone?

“I thought she must have abandoned us. That not even Andraste was looking out for her children.”

“Andraste?” Zevran asked in spite of himself. “Not the Maker?”

She wrinkled her nose and her mouth twisted to one side. “Eh kind of. The Hahren teaches us that Andraste didn’t just hear the Maker. That she spoke for the Maker, or was a physical form of the Maker, sent to save us.”

“The Maker is a woman?” Zevran raised his eyebrows. 

“I dunno. Maybe. Maybe he’s everything. But… point is. Andraste worked miracles. She was supposed to have saved the elves with Shartan. But… I stopped believing she was looking out for any of us. How could Andraste let my mother die? How could she let all these fucking terrible things happen?”

“That is why people like you and I have to learn to look out for ourselves,” Zevran said sagely. “Why depend on prophets and prayers when you can only trust your wit. This world was never made for us.”

Kallian’s shoulders shook. “But it was _her_. It was my _mother_ there Zev,” she sobbed brokenly. “She- she was there. She was at Andraste’s side!” Kallian exclaimed, pulling an amulet from her shirt.

It wasn’t the strings on her shirt she fiddled with, but a necklace he had never seen her wear before. Bronze in colour, a fine chain with an ovular pendant hanging from it. He frowned and cupped it against his fingers, saw the flames of the Chantry’s symbolism that was so familiar. And on the back: “This says…”

“Yeah.” Kallian clutched it back. “ _Bare your blade, and raise it high_.” More shining tears poured down her face. 

“The Chant?” Zevran frowned. “Surely anyone could-”

“-It was from mum. She used to sing that hymn. I know it was from her, sent by Andraste,” Kallian said vehemently. “She’s waiting for me there… When my time comes.”

Now Zevran understood. They weren’t tears of sorrow, but profound joy. The kind he wished he could feel, the kind he ached for when he ran to the chantry crying to please join as a brother before the Crows pulled him back by his leash. He envied Kallian’s certainty. Faith, as they say. 

They sat in strange silence, the kind he almost feared to break. The flames flickered in the fireplace reminding him of the wall they walked through - licking them with warmth rather than lashing with burning tongues. Flames even he, Zevran Arainai - assassin, whoreson, murderer - had passed through unscathed.

“Perhaps someday I too, will be forgiven,” he finally gave voice to his unspoken prayer, “and be welcomed by her side…”

Suddenly a smaller hand was in his, as warm and comforting as the flames of the gauntlet. But this warmth was for him alone.

“What could there possibly be to forgive?” Kallian whispered. She tiltined her head to one side to look at him with those startling big brown eyes with droplets of tears still clinging to her eyelashes. 

Zevran froze. His heart nearly stopped. Just a rhetorical question, surely. Waves of grief nearly washed over him until he promptly repressed it all again. The mask slid back into place. His lips turned up in a practiced smile. “Ah my warden, but think of the many sins of the flesh I have committed, and the many more I plan to commit. I am but a man plagued with lust!” He leaned in close to her and put on an exaggerated pout. “Please forgive me, I am utterly terrible.”

Kallian snorted and his shoulders relaxed a little. “Zev,” she said in that same steady, earnest voice, “you are not terrible.” 

He had to look away. She didn’t know everything he had done. Selfishly, he tightened his hand around hers. Her hand was enough for now. 


End file.
